Compare every love to first
unrequited – a poetess
obsessed – regret, longing
No wonder I lack roots
goodbyes stack up
like cardboard mannequins
There is no presence in yearning
I am automaton, disengaged
heart chained to fantasy.
(Image my own.)
Compare every love to first
unrequited – a poetess
obsessed – regret, longing
No wonder I lack roots
goodbyes stack up
like cardboard mannequins
There is no presence in yearning
I am automaton, disengaged
heart chained to fantasy.
(Image my own.)
Do not apologize
the fault lies not with you
Love, while lauded for its cures,
is not always compensation
for a life of turmoil –
I know you loved her
Watched as you let your dreams slide
heart wringing with your own sorrow
There was just something about her
men lined up to grasp… to make her
What? Theirs? Happy?
It was not to be
she barely possessed herself…
Even in death, I reach for her
try to define the ruse
but her essence is elusive
No, you are not at fault…
for she was never really there.
(For Reena’s Xploration Challenge, prompt the featured image.)
We converse in actions
words inaccessible –
have not been schooled
in dialogues for two.
His clutter spreads
pronounce’s a kingly
presence, commands
attention, oppresses
I clean with insistence
shuffle papers, wipe up
crumbs, assert my right
to co-exist, belittle him.
Once we studied dance;
he learning to lead, I
to follow signals – the art
is lost on us now, our steps
more interference, blocking
an inconvenience, not a
strategy; we are rhythmless
tolerating avoidances
How did language fail us
experts now at skirting
delicate issues, retreating
into solo performances
Pray time will serve,
absolve the problem, but
distance grows in silent cracks
we only converse in actions.
(Marital Dance first appeared here in August, 2017.
I submit it here, edited, for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: dance.
Image my own.)
Who instigated the abandonment?
It’s an ugly question
manifests pretensions
both sides righteous…
blinded
When the rage subsides
faith will intervene
and acceptance –
a milestone
will springboard
recover, victims’
voices gaining clarity
intent amended
launching into love
once again.
(Love Cycles first appeared here May, 2018. Resubmitting it for Reena’s Xploration Challenge: milestones. Image my own.)
Endings
berry-coloured
sentiments
resting on a shelf
Nostalgia
doesn’t give a lick
about failures
cherishes emotion
No amount
of cunning can erase
the sweet taste
of first love.
(Image my own)
Has no jugular
sandstone grit
keeps his hell
well barricaded
She is melody
beauty flowing
sees only light
Classic tragedy
about to unfold.
(Image mine)
This shield of granite
birthed from grief
no match for vibrancy
of heart – her song
bright as cardinal
must be heard –
love outwitting loss
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Past love’s deadline
wolves no longer prowl
vultures, smelling rot,
circle overhead, plot
My essence is solitary
feather fallen between
wide-eyed expectancy
and maturity’s abyss
Abandonment or neglect
I truly cannot say…
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Child
delightful youth
my heart’s jewel
light-bearer
hope
antics haphazard
laughter contagious
spreading joy
sparking imagination
I pray that your spirit
remains vibrant, and
that reality dawns gently
(This poem first appeared in November 2018, as A Child Glows. I submit an edited and re-titled version here for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: jewels. Image my own.)
Here’s a boy, tender
and raw, heart exposed
awkward innocence
blocking intention
Here’s a man, fiery
eyes, hands coarse,
face leather, smoky
words coaxing affection
Here’s a girl, book smart
heart uncertain, romance
a fluttery desire, caught
between the two, torn
The boy averts his eyes
fears she’ll see the raging
in his loins, read obsession
in his longing, reject him
The man takes her hand,
softly traces the outline
of her face, slow, seductive
draws her into his mystery
She is a two-headed lamb
ponders the breadth of
the boy’s shoulders, knows
his future is a srtaight line
Hormones raging at man’s
touch, the way his eyes
devour her, the magical
nuances in his voice
Two paths, she thinks
two diverging outcomes;
the boy holds himself erect
feels his fate is decided
The man lays his head
in her lap, thick waves
of black thrilling her –
a dead-end street
Is it pride that makes
the boy look away, she
wonders, or am I not
good enough, tainted?
She turns to the older
man, smiles, pull him
to her and surrenders,
darkness a familiar place.
(Decided to resurrect this old poem for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: romance. Image my own.)